Bonds of Duty
by Luthien2
Summary: Hermione discovers that sometimes doing what you have to can have unexpected consequences.
1. Secrets

Disclaimer: All things Harry Potter belong to JK Rowling. No money is being made from this work of fan fiction.

**Bonds of Duty  
by Luthien**

A loose lock of hair fell in front of Hermione's face and obscured her vision. Irritably, she pushed it out of her eyes and reached behind her head to find her hairclip and anchor it properly back in place. Hair secured, she sighed and looked down at the book open on the table in front of her. The writing in the book was small and crabbed and was beginning to blur before her eyes. She sighed again and let her hands slip down to rub her aching neck. She'd been sitting here for hours now and still hadn't found anything useful, despite the huge pile of books she'd been searching through which were stacked precariously in the corner of the table.

"You look tired."

Hermione nearly jumped out of her skin. "_Please don't come up behind me like that, Harry," she said plaintively._

"Sorry," said Harry, sounding vaguely apologetic as he came to stand beside her chair. "But you do look tired. Why don't you come downstairs and have something to eat. Molly says dinner will be ready soon."

"Yes, I suppose I should," said Hermione, scowling at the book. "And then I'd better go home."

"You could always stay here. You're doing all your work here at the moment anyway and-"

"I've told you before, Harry. I can't stay here. There are reasons why I have to live at Hogwarts-"

"-which you can't tell me. Yes, I know."

"Anyway," said Hermione, not wanting to go into all that again, "It's been a really frustrating day's work. I just can't understand why I haven't found anything. There should have been some sort of lead in all of that." She waved a hand at the pile of books. "They're all from the attic. Full of Dark magic, the lot of them. But there isn't a single reference to what I'm looking for, as far as I can see, unless it's in the second half of this one here."

"Take a break. You can start again in the morning," Harry suggested.

Hermione wanted to protest at that. Since when had _Harry been in a position to advise her on study techniques? "All right," she said, grudgingly admitting that he had a point. "Just give me a moment to get packed up."_

She quickly gathered up her notebooks and quills and packed them away in her bag, then closed the book in front of her, pausing in the act of adding it to the pile with the others. She stared down at the book for a moment, then suddenly grabbed hold of it and stowed it in her bag. Slinging the strap over her shoulder, Hermione followed Harry out of the room, grateful she'd had the foresight to bring her No-way No-weigh carry-all which always weighed the same no matter how heavy the objects it held.  

All through dinner – Molly Weasley's ubiquitous stew – Hermione mulled over the problem. She hated not having the answer to anything. Worse, she hated not even having the first clue of where to look next; all the paths she'd tried so far had ended very quickly in dead ends. She suspected her preoccupation might have been noticeable to those around her because no one said very much to her in the course of the meal. Harry tried to talk to her a few times, but only about unimportant subjects like Quidditch, and she'd had a lot of practice in ignoring that sort of chatter over the years. She was thankful that at least he didn't make another attempt to persuade her to stay. Her reasons for living at Hogwarts were yet another thing she didn't have a proper answer to, and even if the whole thing hadn't been so secret she wouldn't have known where to begin when trying to explain it to Harry. It was probably no coincidence that the subject of her fruitless search through the books from the attic was not unconnected with what sent her back to Hogwarts at the end of each day.

Once the meal had concluded, Hermione made her goodbyes absently and went out into the night. It took only as long as between one breath and the next to Apparate to the gates of the school. The cold night air of Scotland was a shock against her skin after the relatively balmy London weather. Hermione retrieved her cloak from the depths of the No-way No-weigh bag and put it on, making sure to pull the hood forward to warm her face. An _accio_ later her broom hovered before her, ready to go. She mounted the broom, and away she went.

Broomrides were boring. There really wasn't anything else to do but think when travelling by broom, especially at night when it was difficult to make out your surroundings, apart from the looming castle which lit up the night like a Christmas tree. Hermione took the opportunity to worry about the problem again as she flew towards the castle. She thought about it some more as she dismounted and went inside. She was still thinking about it as she made her way through the corridors and down the stairs until she found herself outside the door to her quarters. 

Forcing herself to stop thinking about the problem for a moment, she muttered the password, and went inside. She took in the state of her quarters at a glance; as she expected, very little had changed since she'd departed for work that morning, and there was no one else to be seen. She put down her bag and wandered into the bedroom, quickly discarding her cloak and shoes. 

She eyed the bed, sitting there with its dark, austere covers – and its oh so comfortable pillows, which she longer to rest her aching neck against.  Hermione knew she really should get some more work done this evening, and she really couldn't unwind properly with the problem still foremost in her mind anyway, but the bed looked so inviting after such a long day. Perhaps she could find a way… 

Less than ten minutes later, Hermione was tucked up in bed, propped up on soft pillows, a quill in her hand, notebook on her knee and the book she'd brought back with her hovering in the air close by the bed. Every so often, Hermione pointed her wand at it and the book obediently turned the page. She wasn't sure how long she continued like that, scribbling down notes and muttering under her breath about things that didn't add up, but she'd made it through a good two dozen pages of the book by the time she heard the main door open, followed by the sounds of someone entering and moving around in the sitting room.

Hermione heard a door open and close, the chink of glass against glass, and the gentle whoosh of a cushion as someone settled in an armchair. Then there was the rustle of a page; someone was sitting and reading with a drink in their hand. 

The little sounds continued for fifteen minutes or so. Hermione managed to get through about half a page of her book in that time. Then she heard the unmistakable sounds of footsteps coming nearer. The bedroom door opened, and Snape entered the room.

"Good evening," he said stiffly.

"Hello," said Hermione, looking up briefly before returning her attention to her notebook. 

He stood there and stared at her for a moment. Hermione was acutely aware of his scrutiny and could feel a tell-tale flush creeping up her neck. However, she kept her eyes determinedly on her notes, though she couldn't have said what she was writing if she'd been asked.

"Have your researches uncovered any leads?" Snape asked so abruptly that Hermione looked up at him in surprise before she had a chance to stop herself.

"No," she said. "I felt sure there'd be something useful in the books from the house, but there's been next to nothing so far."

"Are you intending to continue much longer?" he asked, looking meaningfully at the bed.

"No," she said again, and felt her face colouring. Damn. She was going to have to stop reacting like that. "I was about ready to stop for the night, anyway."

She pointed her wand at the book again and it shut with a snap before floating down to rest on her bedside table. Hermione set down her notebook and quill on top of the book and then settled back against the pillows.

Snape had opened the wardrobe, and the door hid him from Hermione's view. She could hear the rustle of his robes as he got undressed. She looked away, not wanting to be caught staring when he emerged.

Eventually, Snape closed the wardrobe door and came over to the bed. He was wearing a long, shapeless nightshirt, which hid most of his body from view. He sat down on the side of the bed, took off his boots and placed them carefully by the bedside table where the house-elves were sure to find them.

Then he pulled back the covers and got into bed beside Hermione.

"Do you want to, er, read or anything?" Hermione asked.

Snape just stared at her.

"I was just wondering if you were ready to put out the light," she explained.

"If I had wanted to continue reading I would not have come to bed," he said, and Hermione was sure she wasn't imagining the rebuke in his voice. Well, she wasn't going to apologise for reading in bed. It was her bed now, quite as much as it was his, and it wasn't as though she was still reading now that he'd come to bed, anyway.

"Fine. _Nox," she snapped with a last wave of her wand and plunged the room into darkness._

She lay back against the pillows again, not remotely sleepy despite her long and tiring day. She was very aware of Snape in the bed beside her, even though no part of their bodies touched. She was also aware that that state of affairs couldn't continue tonight. It didn't look as though Snape was going to do anything about that, though, so the responsibility fell to her. Hesitantly, she rolled onto her side and placed a hand on his flannel-clad arm. She felt his arm stiffen at her touch.

"You know we really should," she whispered.

The only reply she received was utter silence. She wondered if he was holding his breath.

"It's been a whole week, and you know-"

"Yes, I know," he said. "I was there. I heard what Dumbledore said. We should let no more than a week go by before we-"

"-do it again," Hermione finished. 

They both lay there in silence, Hermione's hand still on Snape's arm, but otherwise not touching.

"I suppose we'd better get on with it," said Snape with a sigh of resignation.

And then his hand was on her arm, moving down in slow, firm strokes, slipping down after a moment to cup the curve of her hip and squeeze her backside gently through her nightdress.

Hermione's whole body tensed in pleasure at the unexpected caress. She wriggled closer, resting her head against his shoulder and pressing a line of kisses into his neck. She smiled as she felt a tiny shudder run through him in response. In tacit agreement, they both moved closer, hands moving faster now as they traced the shape of each other, bodies cleaving together, wanting to be skin to skin but nightclothes got in their way, frustrating them.

"We're overdressed," Hermione whispered into Snape's ear, and pulled away from him. She sat up and threw off her nightdress, reflecting that it was scary how quickly they always moved from the first, tentative touch to something that wasn't all that far from a desperate need.

And then they were back together in the middle of the bed, bodies pressed together with no impediment. Even with her eyes open, Hermione couldn't see a thing in the near total darkness, so she closed her eyes and let herself feel. Her world was all warm skin and panting breath and a growing ache for more. She welcomed the touch of his hand against her jaw when it came, and tilted her face up for his kiss.

Hermione's last thought, before she let herself drown in sensation, was that she wished she didn't enjoy this quite so very much.

***

TBC


	2. The Morning After the Night Before

**Chapter 2: The Morning After the Night Before**

Hermione didn't want to wake up. That was her first conscious thought. Unfortunately, it seemed that she _was_ awake. She peered out through almost closed lids and found that daylight was creeping into the room. There was no hope of going back to sleep, then.

Her next conscious thought was that she didn't want to get up. She yawned, and closed her eyes tight. She could pretend it was Saturday at least until her alarm went off, even though there were, no doubt, lots of things she was supposed to be doing today. She was so tired she didn't want to move an inch, and the bed was so very comfortable. Surely nothing would suffer too badly if she stayed here that little bit longer? She snuggled more deeply into her pillow and curled her legs against the soft linen sheet.

Something moved against her back.

Hermione's eyes flew open. She rolled onto her back and looked across the pillow at-

Oh, yes. That was right.

He was lying on his side. She could see an ear peeking out from beneath familiar black hair; a shoulder and the beginning of a long, pale back were also visible where the covers had slipped down.

As Hermione watched, Snape twitched slightly in his asleep. He must be getting cold; she could see the gooseflesh appearing on his upper arm. Presumably, the rest of him was just as naked as his upper body. Hermione looked down: just as naked as she was herself.

Hermione pulled the sheet up tight so that everything below her shoulders was properly covered. It didn't really change the fact that she was quite naked, but it made her feel better. She'd never done this before, woken up naked in bed in the morning. Not by herself; not with anyone, but most especially not naked in bed with Snape. Her lack of clothing hadn't bothered her the night before, but then lots of other things which should have bothered her hadn't bothered her the night before either. She groaned softly, remembering the way she'd pulled off her nightdress and flung it aside. What could have possessed her?

Well, she knew the answer to that. Professor Dumbledore had warned them of just this sort of development, of the possibility of the spell working on their subconscious minds, pushing them towards what it wanted, eroding their self-control. They'd been doing so well until last night that perhaps they'd got slightly complacent. Perhaps they'd become a little too sure of their own abilities to keep the power of the spell tightly leashed. She and Snape hadn't been nearly so… uninhibited the previous two times they'd had sex, exactly a week apart, as planned. It had been serious and solemn, both times. At least, that was how it had started. Hermione had reminded herself over and over again of just why she'd agreed to do this. Duty had been paramount in her mind and even if both times she'd reached the point where the blood had been rushing in her ears as she gasped for breath and pleasure pounded through her, then at least they'd both still been wearing nightclothes at the end and could therefore claim that a certain amount of personal dignity remained.

Neither of them enjoyed the invasion of privacy inherent in the situation. Hermione thought that Snape resisted all trappings of intimacy even more than she did. It was impossible not to intrude on each other's private lives given that in addition to the weekly sharing of bodies they were also having to share the same living quarters, and, of course, the same bed every night. However, they'd had a tacit understanding that there were certain boundaries they would not cross. 

So what had happened to that last night? How had they both succumbed so easily?

Hermione considered the matter. She'd wanted to feel skin against skin. That's where it had started. She closed her eyes, feeling oddly embarrassed to be looking at Snape's naked back. Skin against skin. With Snape. She'd never expected anything like that, or to find herself wanting anything like that, when she'd agreed to take part in this desperate undertaking. She hadn't really been able to properly imagine it beforehand, but she'd thought that it would be businesslike, more than anything – as businesslike as such a necessarily intimate act could ever be, anyway.

She groaned again, and Snape shifted beside her. She bit her lip; the last thing she wanted to do was wake him up prematurely. If she thought that looking at his back was embarrassing even with the rest of him safely covered up, then an awake, less covered, vocal Snape was definitely something that didn't bear thinking about. He would most likely blame her for the loss of control, and Hermione was honest enough to admit to herself that she'd wanted it and that she'd been the one who'd made the first move. But he hadn't put up any sort of objection. In fact, he'd thrown off his nightshirt with considerable alacrity. Besides, he knew as well as she did that they'd had to do it last night. They needed to do it to reinforce the strength of the spell. 

Beside her, Snape moved again and made a low, sleepy sound. Steeling herself to open her eyes, Hermione discovered that he'd rolled over and was lying sprawled on his stomach with his head still turned away from her on the pillow. His left arm was close to her now. The room was dimly lit, but the presence of the faint mark on his lower arm was unmistakeable.

The last remnants of Hermione's earlier resolve to pretend that it was Saturday and stay in bed for as long as possible fell away. She decided that right now would be a really good time to get out of bed. It was a shame, really, since now that she was a bit more awake she remembered that it _was_ Saturday. It would have been a shame, anyway. She swallowed, and made herself look away from Snape's bare arm.

Her eyes fell on the small clock on her beside table. She blinked. Ten o'clock? It looked as though she – they – had managed to sleep in after all. How on earth had that happened? She didn't feel as though she'd had all that extra sleep. She felt bone weary, and more than ready to stay in bed for quite some time to come. Well, she would have done, except for the little matter of… She looked back at the man lying beside her, her eyes drawn almost irresistibly to the one thing in the room that she most didn't want to see.

As though aware of her scrutiny, Snape made another of those sleepy, wordless noises deep in his throat. Hermione let out a sigh. She wouldn't be surprised if he woke soon, and she'd much rather not be present when he did. There was really nothing else for it but to get up. Resolutely, she pulled back the covers and slipped out of bed.

She yawned her way across the thick bedroom carpet to the bathroom, hardly able to see where she was going through the curtain of hair in front of her eyes. Suddenly, she bit back a less than ladylike word or three when her foot got caught in something and she very nearly tripped and fell. She pushed her hair out of her face and scowled down at her discarded nightdress. So that was where it had ended up. She dispatched it into the corner of the room with a satisfying kick and continued on. It was with no little relief that she made it to the sanctuary of the bathroom and slammed the door behind her.

She hoped the noise had woken him up.

As she stepped away from the door, Hermione winced and turned her face away from the bright sunlight coming in from the two large windows on the far side of the room. She hadn't yet become accustomed to the glare which greeted her each morning in Snape's bathroom. The bathroom was the only room in Snape's chambers which possessed anything like good-sized windows, but they more than made up for the lack elsewhere. They weren't much short of magnificent, stretching from the floor to the high ceiling in two perfect, elegant white arches, which framed the view out across the lake and beyond.

While she had gasped in pleased surprise the first time she'd seen the bathroom windows, Hermione soon found that she didn't like living with them day in and day out quite so much. The windows were bare of curtains and drapes of any kind, and the light streamed in relentlessly at most times of day. Whenever Hermione used the bathroom, she couldn't quite shake the feeling that she was on display, even though she knew quite well that there was nothing anywhere near the castle high enough to provide a vantage point from which anyone could look in.

That still didn't rule out passing brooksticks, of course. Hermione was itching to put up a deflecting charm, or a reflecting charm or an obscuring charm or something similar. There were scores of spells which would do an effective job of allowing those inside to see out while preventing any stray Quidditch player from seeing in. Even a set of unenchanted curtains would be an improvement on nothing at all.

Of course, Hermione could have easily applied any of the spells that sprang to mind, or even put up a set of curtains by less magical means if she'd decided to. But she hadn't. Snape definitely hadn't said that she couldn't _add_ things to his quarters, but since he'd greeted her upon her arrival two weeks ago with the very blighting instruction not to touch a thing without his leave, Hermione had been left in little doubt as to what his feelings would be with regard to any changes to the bathroom décor. At first, she had been determined to disrupt Snape's living quarters as little as possible. Of his own free will, he was giving up the privacy he set such store by, even if he didn't bother to hide his resentment of the circumstances that required it. Of course, neither of them had expected the situation to continue for nearly as long as it had already, much less with no end in sight.

And yet here they were. Here she was, stuck in this impossible situation. Stuck with an impossible wizard. Stuck with impossible windows for that matter, she thought as she spared them one last irritable glance.

For how much longer?

She rubbed her eyes wearily and wished she was back in bed. She wished she was back in bed by herself.

There was no choice but to get ready to face the day. 

She used the toilet first, keeping her eyes firmly averted from the offending windows the whole time. The shower, with its private, obscuring screen beckoned next. That was a more inviting prospect. Hermione could already feel the cleansing blast of hot water against her skin. It was just what she needed – to clean herself properly in body, anyway.

She got to her feet; a bit too fast, she promptly discovered as the room swam before her eyes and tilted alarmingly. She grabbed hold of the brass towel rail affixed to the wall beside her and remained there, clinging desperately for a few stomach-churning seconds until the room settled and she could see properly again.

Hermione drew in a shaky breath and made herself let go of the rail. Obviously, she needed to make sure that she ate proper meals more regularly than she had been of late. She would start with today's breakfast, straight after she'd washed and dressed. She looked over at the shower stall again and then reluctantly moved on to the bath. She could lie down in the bath. Perhaps that would be best this morning, even allowing for the problem of the bathtub's close proximity to the windows.

She perched on the edge of the bath and watched the water flow from a set of old-fashioned taps very similar to those she was familiar with from the student bathrooms. The bath itself was even more old-fashioned than the taps, a deep, claw-footed piece of work in plain white porcelain which matched the large tiles lining the wall behind it. She thought it odd that the teachers' quarters didn't run to more luxurious fixtures, like the ones in the prefects' bathroom. Then again, this relative austerity might simply be one of Snape's particular quirks. The white bath, tiles and windowframes, plus the dazzling light which bounced off the shining tiles was oddly un-Snape-like. Hermione couldn't imagine that he had chosen any of those things. It was strange that he had, apparently, elected not to change any of the features of the room even after all his years of living here. If not for the fact that she knew it would be a wasted effort, Hermione would have loved to ask Snape why. 

She shut off the flow of water with a wave of her wand and settled into the bath, leaning back and closing her eyes against the bright sunlight. 

It took her somewhat less than thirty seconds to decide that she wasn't going to put up with those uncovered windows any longer. Snape obviously never took a bath during the day; it wouldn't surprise Hermione to find out that he never took a bath at all. It wouldn't hurt him to accommodate her preferred bathing habits. He'd given up his privacy, true, but so had she. She was the one who'd moved out of her home and into semi-hostile territory for the duration. She was the one who'd made all the major concessions up until now. Viewed from that perspective, it seemed more than fair that he should put up with a few minor alterations to his environment while she was forced to share it.

She made a few waves in the bath as she leaned over the side of the bath to retrieve her wand from the floor. She squinted up at the window as she took aim: with a bit of luck, she'd soon make a few waves of quite a different sort.

"_Velumio_," she said, stressing the second syllable. 

Instantly, the room darkened. Hermione looked up through the sudden gloom, trying to make out what exactly was blocking the light from the windows. That was the one little uncertain variable with that spell: you could never be quite sure what sort of curtains you would end up with. Hermione was fairly sure that the trick to perfecting it lay in the exact intonation used when casting the spell. Last time she'd tried it, she'd ended up with a set of elaborately lacy curtains which wouldn't have looked out of place in any of the bedrooms in her mother's house. As she recalled, Ron hadn't been too thrilled to see them adorning the main window of the bedsit he referred to as his "pad". Well, she hadn't produced lace curtains this time, that was for sure. These ones were much more solid, so solid that they blocked out the light to the extent that she had trouble making out the pattern on them.

"_Lumos_," she added as an afterthought.

Hermioine laughed out loud at her first clear sight of the curtains. Chintz! They were like something out of her grandmother's house. She hoped Snape was struck speechless at the sight of them.

She put out the light and then stifled another laugh as she let herself sink down into the bathwater until all of her face was submerged except for her nose. There was something private and wonderfully isolated about being down in the water like that, particularly when surrounded by the soft gloom currently enveloping the bathroom. It was so calm and relaxing that it almost made up for having to get out of bed before she was ready. Actually, it was more relaxing than being in bed with Snape. Much more. Well, except for when they were both really relaxed, of course.

If Hermione's face hadn't been underwater, she probably would have laughed again, a bit self-consciously this time. Sleeping with Snape. _Sex_ with Snape. She never would have predicted that. When she was a student, she'd had some vague idea that a relationship mightn't be a bad thing at some point in her future, so long as it didn't interfere with more important considerations, like her studies, her career, and helping Harry and Dumbledore and all the rest of them in the fight against Voldemort. And now here she was, in something that had all the more intimate trappings of a serious relationship without actually being one, while researching into the whole thing as part of her role in the war effort, and all the time aware that her researches couldn't hurt in furthering her own ambitions, either.

Hermione knew quite a lot about sex. It could be looked up in books and researched like any other subject, after all. When she was a student, she'd quickly made her way through the fairly slim pickings on the subject available in the Hogwarts library. At the time, Hermione had wondered about the sparsity of reading material on sex and sex magic to be found even in the Restricted Section. She wondered about it even more now. It was something to ask about some time soon. Now, at least, she had a legitimate reason for researching the subject.

Back then, it had been simple curiosity that had driven her. She'd supplemented her readings with books from her parents' local library during the holidays. She'd even perused a few articles on sex when flipping through old magazines in her mother's waiting room while waiting for her to finish with her final patient of the day. Thanks to all her reading, Hermione knew a lot about sex and the modern woman. She knew about the importance of foreplay; she knew about the Power of the Clitoris, and about Being Responsible for your Own Orgasm; she knew about the supposed difference between clitoral and vaginal orgasms; she knew about the Ten Surefire Ways of Keeping Your Man Coming Back for More; she knew about the significance of The Right Wand for The Right Witch.

She'd even had sex a few times.

None of it had prepared her for the situation with Snape. Not at all. She didn't like having to deal with anything without appropriate and thorough preparation, but this time, she had no choice.

Well, she was coping so far. _They_ were coping so far. Just. So long as the situation didn't continue much longer, which was, of course, where her researches came in. She needed to get back to work on that today. It was just as well she'd brought that book back with her the night before.

Hermione surfaced, and reached behind her for the bottle of _Lotsa' Lather for Extra-Abundant Tresses_ shampoo she'd left on the shelf at the end of the bath.

Her hand grasped at empty air. With a sense of foreboding, Hermione twisted around in the bath: the shelf was quite bare. The remains of her calm evaporated. 

"Oh, I don't believe it," she muttered. "He's done it again."

Damn Snape. Damn him to hell. She could put up with a lot. She could be put up with living as an unwelcome guest in Snape's quarters, _and_ sleeping with him, _and_ having sex with him, _and_ putting up with his moods and habits. However, she refused to put up with having her personal possessions relocated without her permission or even her knowledge. It just wasn't on. There was nothing wrong with leaving her bath things out on the shelf, within a convenient arm's reach of the bath. It wasn't as if she left the caps off, or the bottles scattered haphazardly about the room. Snape didn't put anything of his own on the shelf, so why should he begrudge her the use of it?

Hermione knew exactly where she'd find her things. Still muttering under her breath, she hoisted herself up out of the bath. 

She wasn't ready for the room to start tilting again. It was sheer luck that her flailing hand found the shelf and hung on. She sank down on trembling knees, only sure that that way _was_ down because the bathwater was there.

She remained there for a while, eyes closed and hand clamped like a vice around the shelf, until the muscles in her arm started protesting under the strain. She opened her eyes cautiously. The dizzy spell seemed to be past. She'd definitely have to hunt out some breakfast as soon as possible.

Hermione pulled herself up, slowly and carefully this time, taking a moment to rest on the edge of the bath before dripping her way across the floor. Her missing bath potions were in the cupboard beneath the sink, as expected. She stared at them, feeling too weak to summon up the righteous anger and resentment she'd been anticipating only a little while before. Now she felt so… drained – yes, drained was the word – that she really did want to sleep the day away in bed.

She got back into the bath, and washed and conditioned her hair almost mechanically. She half-dozed in the tub for a while after that, not even having the energy to reach down for her wand to keep the water at her preferred high temperature. Eventually, the water cooled sufficiently that she could no longer ignore it. She got out of the bath very carefully, towelled herself dry, and sat down again on the side of the bath to apply the quick-dry charm she always used after washing her hair.

She leaned her head against the wall briefly, feeling more drained than ever, and only then paused to wonder about whether Snape would still be in the bedroom when she emerged. 

All of her clothes were in the bedroom.

It wasn't something she'd had to worry about before. Every other morning she'd been here, Snape had risen early, got through his ablutions quickly, dressed in the bathroom and departed before she'd even made it out of bed.

She'd been less than alert when she'd retreated to the bathroom this morning, not even thinking to grab her dressing-gown from its hanger on the way. All of her clothes were out there, and of course, so was he. There was nothing else for it: she'd have to wrap herself up in her towel and brazen it out. 

Once she'd arranged the towel around her so that it covered everything that needed to be covered, she turned to the mirror and took a good look at the picture she presented. The mirror didn't offer an opinion; it was a mirror of few words, not doubt the result of living too many years with Snape. Hermione frowned. She'd never worn this particular towel before and it was definitely on the skimpy side. It would just have to do. She wished she'd had the foresight to use a bathsheet. 

Then she laughed. Perhaps the sight of her would stun Snape into silence. She could always hope. Taking a deep breath, she opened the door and walked out into the bedroom.

Snape was indeed still in the bedroom, though no longer asleep or in bed. Or naked. He was wearing his long, navy dressing-gown and was, in fact, standing so close to the bathroom door that Hermione nearly walked right into him. 

"I trust you have quite finished in my bathroom?" he asked in a tight voice, emphasising the possessive.

"Oh yes, I'm all done," said Hermione.

She expected him to come back with some sort of withering retort. He shot her a fierce look at that, as though searching for some double meaning in her words, but said nothing more than, "See that you don't keep me waiting so long in future." Then he disappeared into the bathroom, leaving her standing in the middle of the floor.

She was pretty sure that he hadn't even noticed the towel, or anything else that she wasn't wearing. In an odd way, she was disappointed about that. Wasn't he the least bit curious about the body he'd touched so intimately only the night before? She supposed that he wasn't.

She heard the toilet flush beyond the door, and then the rush of water as the shower was turned on. That was definitely her cue to get dressed and out the door before he made a reappearance.

Letting the towel drop to the floor, Hermione set about getting ready for the day ahead.


	3. Surprises and Questions

**Chapter 3: Surprises and Questions**

Because Hermione left Hogwarts far later than she'd intended, Diagon Alley was far busier than she liked by the time she arrived there.

She went to Gringotts first, and had to spend a considerable length of time standing around in the queue waiting for the first free goblin. When she finally emerged from the bank, her pockets weighed down with many small bags of Galleons and Sickles, and a handful of Knuts. The variety of coins was important: some of the places she planned on visiting that day were loath to give change.

Hermione stepped out into the street, squinting against the sun, which was now high in the sky. The Alley was filled with colour and movement as witches and wizards dressed in all manner of robes and carrying all manner of weird and wonderful objects hurried about their business. Across the street, the entrance to Knockturn Alley was swathed in shadow; it was as though the sunlight somehow failed to touch it.

Next, Hermione's eyes fell on the Magical Menagerie, where she'd bought Crookshanks. She smiled slightly, remembering her first sight of him, a ball of orange fur springing down after Ron's rat, Scabbers. Ron had been outraged and had resented Crookshanks's presence at Hogwarts for most of the rest of that year, but Crookshanks had been proved to be a shrewd judge of character in the end. Her smile faded, as she recalled another wizard who was less than thrilled about Crookshanks's current presence at Hogwarts, or, more specifically, about Crookshanks's presence in his quarters at Hogwarts. 

When Hermione had first arrived to stay, Snape had arched one brow and remarked, in a deadly voice, that there had been no mention in any previous discussion of _an animal_ accompanying her. Hermione had replied tartly that Crookshanks was not _an animal_, as Snape put it, but her familiar. Surely, she had asked, Snape was sufficiently well-versed in the ways of wizards and witches that it should come as no surprise that she was possessed of a familiar? Snape had not replied to that, but merely thrown one last, suspicious glance at Crookshanks and advised Hermione to "Keep it out of my way and out of my things." Nothing further had been said on the subject of Crookshanks's presence. Much to Hermione's surprise, the cat did not take an instant and irrevocable set against Snape, as she'd been more than half-expecting. Snape proceeded to act as though Crookshanks wasn't there at all, and Crookshanks, equally, kept to himself. This was wholly unlike Crookshanks's usual behaviour when he met someone new. Generally, upon meeting someone for the first time, Crookshanks either took a liking to that person - or creature - or took them in aversion. Not this time, though. It was almost as though Crookshanks was biding his time and reserving judgement of Snape for the moment.

A tall wizard pushed past her, and Hermione realised she was blocking the doorway into the bank. Muttering a brief apology, she moved away and out into the street. It was more than past time to get on with her shopping. 

Her first stop wasn't far and was somewhere she knew well: Madam Malkin's Robes For All Occasions. As soon as she stepped in the door, she was greeted by Madam Malkin herself, who proceeded to ask after Harry and Ron in her usual friendly way before smoothly guiding the conversation back to the subject of what sort of robes Hermione was in need of. Madam Malkin was not a successful businesswitch for nothing. She had Hermione's measurements on file, of course, and since all the measurements on her file were charmed to alter automatically in keeping with any alterations to the dimensions of the wizard or witch to which they belonged, there was no need for Hermione to go through the tedious process of a complete fitting. Before long, she had a new set of dress robes in her favourite shade of blue. She managed to resist a set of work robes in a rather violent and unsuitable shade of purple, settling instead on another set made of a serviceable dark grey fabric.

By the time her purchases had been duly wrapped and paid for, Hermione was itching to get out of Madam Malkin's and into the next shop she had to visit that day. Shopping for clothes was one of her least favourite activities, and she never willingly subjected herself to the experience except when there was real need. Hermione was on the point of making her escape when the door opened and another witch walked in.

"Hermione! What a surprise. Fancy meeting you here!"

Hermione found herself face to face with one of the people she missed least from her schooldays. _I don't fancy it at all_, she thought. Instead, she said, "Hello, Pansy. It's been a while." 

"It has been a while! I'm so glad we bumped into each other. I was wondering whether you were going to turn up this time, but I see you must be since you're buying new robes." Pansy Parkinson managed to sound patronising and insincere in equal measure as she gave Hermione an assessing look, eyeing her rather worn robes with obvious distaste. In contrast, Pansy's own robes were crisp and new and cut in the very latest style. They also appeared to be embellished with thread of gold. Such richness of dress seemed out of place when paired with Pansy's hard, pug-nosed face.

"I'm sorry?" asked Hermione, wondering what on earth was Pansy going on about. 

"The reunion. You know. Surely you must have received the Owl about it."

"I'm sorry, I don't-"

"Our class reunion. We've had one every year since we left Hogwarts, but you've never attended any of them. None of you Gryffindors have." Pansy managed to sound quite accusing, which was no mean feat since neither Hermione nor any of her fellow Gryffindors had ever received an invitation to any such gathering, and Pansy obviously knew that very well. 

"I've been busy," Hermione responded coolly. "We all have. There's a little matter of a war being waged these days you know, Pansy. We don't have time for much frivolity." 

"So the newspapers keep saying, though I've never seen any evidence of a war myself." Pansy waved one hand dismissively. "Anyway, are you planning to come to the reunion? It's going to be held at Hogwarts this time. Draco says – you would have read about our wedding, I'm sure – Draco says that most of the professors are going to attend this time, including dear Professor Snape."

There was a slight, malicious glint in her eye as she mentioned Snape, which instantly put Hermione on her guard. Just what was Pansy up to? There was no way she was looking forward to seeing Hermione again, any more than Hermione ever wanted to have anything to do with Pansy again if she could possibly help it. How much did she know about Snape's activities and loyalties? Did she know anything at all about Hermione's current situation? Or had she mentioned Snape merely because of the way he'd treated them all when they were at school: bias in favour of the Slytherins at the expense of everyone else. Somehow, Hermione didn't think that Pansy's motive in mentioning Snape was so relatively innocent. Hermione had the feeling that every word Pansy uttered had been carefully rehearsed. This whole encounter had the air of something that was in no way accidental, in fact. But why? There was only one way to find out.

"I haven't received an invitation, and I can't very well turn up uninvited, so it's unlikely you'll see me there," Hermione pointed out. 

"Really?" Pansy didn't make much of an effort at keeping the falseness out of her attempt at surprise this time. "The Owl must have got lost. I'm sure Millicent would have despatched it with the others."

"Perhaps," said Hermione. "You must be looking forward to seeing Professor Snape again," she added, watching Pansy closely for her reaction.

"Of course. I have so many fond memories of him from school."

_I'll just bet you do_, thought Hermione.

"And of course you would have many memories of him, too," Pansy continued, her lips curling into an unpleasant smile.

"Oh many memories, of course," Hermione agreed.

"So you'll want to attend the reunion if your invitation should happen to turn up?" 

"It's something to consider," Hermione allowed, a less than enthusiastic response which had the desired effect of making Pansy's mouth pinch in annoyance. Why was Pansy pressing her about this?

"I look forward to seeing you there," Pansy said.

Hermione bit her lip to stop herself laughing out loud. She swallowed hard. "I'll look forward to seeing you just as much as I always do, Pansy." That comment was rewarded with a narrowing of Pansy's eyes. "Assuming I receive an invitation, of course. And now, if you'll excuse me, I need to get on with the rest of my shopping."

"Of course," said Pansy. "See you at the reunion."

"Goodbye, Pansy," Hermione said firmly, and hurried out the door before Pansy had the chance to prolong the conversation any further.

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief when she got out into the street again. She hadn't been looking for any sort of conversation with anyone today, much less such a simultaneously hostile and puzzling one. There could be no doubt that Pansy was keen for Hermione to attend an event that had been almost exclusively Slytherin in the past; subtlety had never been Pansy's strong suit, after all. And why had Snape agreed to attend? He must know that it was normally a Malfoy-sponsored function. He hadn't mentioned the matter to Hermione – but then, he didn't make a habit of saying more to her than he absolutely had to about any subject. Perhaps holding the function at Hogwarts was his doing. Or Dumbledore's. But, if so, why hadn't either of them mentioned it to her, if not to the other members of the Order? Since no one was supposed to know about the fact that she was living at Hogwarts, Hermione needed to be kept informed about little things like a student reunion being held in the castle. It wouldn't do for her to be seen going into or out of Snape's private quarters.

She decided to raise the topic when she got back that afternoon. However, there were still plenty of other things she had to sort out in Diagon Alley first. She felt a small thrill as she made her way to the next shop on her list: Flourish and Blotts, her favourite bookshop in the world.

The manager nodded to Hermione in recognition as she entered. She paused briefly at the 'Just In' shelves near the front of the shop, but for once there wasn't much there which really piqued her interest apart from a weighty and garishly-bound tome entitled _White Wizard or Dark Lord: the Epic Struggle Between Albus Dumbledore and You-Know-Who, Part 1_ by Thelonius Thranglegood. It was the publishing sensation of the year. It was also, predictably, sensationalist rubbish. Hermione had already read it and not been much impressed, particularly since the author was apparently hanging out for the outcome of said epic struggle before letting loose the sequel on the far too susceptible book-buying segment of the wizarding public.

Hermione moved on through the shop, passing the Arithmancy, Potion-brewing and Cookery, Magical History, and Self Help sections, all of which held their own fascination for her, all of which were arranged exactly as she remembered them since her very first visit to Flourish and Blotts, and all of which she ignored without a second glance. Instead, she mounted the rickety stairs to the first floor, where even more fascinating books were to be found.

Like the library at Hogwarts, Flourish and Blotts was less than well-stocked when it came to books containing information about the role of sex in various forms of magical practice, and so it came as no real surprise that she was reduced to choosing from a slim array of sources with titles like _Wizarding Wedlock: how to Maintain the Magic in Your Marriage_ and _What Every Young Married Witch Should Know_. Hermione frowned in annoyance at the poor range, but picked up a copy of each just the same. It wouldn't hurt to explore every avenue, however unlikely. Those were just the places in which a serendipitous discovery might be made.

Hermione made her way back downstairs and went up to the main counter, where the manager hovered as he kept one careful eye on a rather disreputable old wizard who was wandering uncertainly amongst the Divination texts at the back of the shop.

"Good afternoon, Miss Granger," said the manager.

"Hello, Mr Bunce," said Hermione. "I was wondering if any of my special orders have come in yet?"

"Oh yes, I believe so. Just let me check…" Bunce bent down, rummaged under the counter for a moment, and pulled out something that looked rather like a square, golden birdcage. He tapped his wand on it three times, muttered an incantation Hermione couldn't quite catch, and the top of the cage sprang open to reveal a large, black book. 

Hermione scanned the front cover eagerly. "Oh, it's _Dark Arts Theory, Volume 5: Combining Magical Sources_! That's the one I was most wanting."

The manager smiled a slightly superior smile. "It took quite some tracking down, but we here at Flourish and Blotts have always prided ourselves on making that extra effort when seeking out books on behalf of our best customers." He coughed delicately. "No matter what the cost."

"I have the exact amount, as requested," said Hermione. She dug into her pocket, pulled out a bag of Galleons and another of silver Sickles, and set them down on the counter. "It's all there. The goblin certified the contents of each bag before the locking charms were applied. Oh, and I'd like to buy these as well, please." She put down the small pile of books she'd taken from upstairs.

"Of course." Bunce smiled another of his professional smiles, which faded right away as he noticed the title of the book on top of the pile. "Er, Miss Granger…"

"Yes?" 

"I take it that I should be extending my felicitations?"

"I'm sorry?"

"You're getting married, I take it? Or have, perhaps already done so, in which case I should point out that we will require your married name for our records."

"No, I'm not married, nor am I planning to be. Why do you ask?" She just refrained from adding _And what business is it of yours, anyway?_

"Ah, I see." Bunce's voice went very cold. He sounded nothing like his usual unctuous self.

"Well, I don't see," Hermione said crossly. 

"I'm afraid that books from the Marital Matters section are generally only made available to married witches and wizards."

"What?" Hermione couldn't believe her ears.

"That has been the unofficial policy of this establishment for many years."

"I've been buying books here for years and I don't remember any such policy!"

"Well, it wouldn't have come up since you've never tried to buy a book on that subject here before."

"No, I haven't," said Hermione through clenched teeth. "Possibly because you stock such a limited range on the subject."

Bunce drew himself up. "Flourish and Blotts stocks the most extensive range of titles on this, and every other, subject of any bookshop in the whole of Great Britain."

"In this case, that's not really saying all that much."

"Miss Granger-"

"Look, you've just sold me a book that is very far from being generally available because, as you said yourself, I'm one of your best customers, and now you're quibbling over selling me books that are freely available to any customer?"

"Those books are not freely available to any customer. As you well know, all the books on the upper floor are available only to customers over the age of seventeen."

"I am over the age of seventeen, so what's the problem?"

Bunce closed his eyes and let out a deep breath. "Technically, yes, anyone over seventeen may purchase any of those books. However-"

"Good, then if I _technically_ pay for them, there should be no problem."

He sighed in what sounded very much like resignation, and then unexpectedly threw her a look that she couldn't quite identify but which made her suddenly uneasy. Bunce had always been polite in his dealings with her, in his own oily way, but now there was something about his manner that was definitely less than respectful. The look he was giving her was, frankly, assessing, as though he'd never really quite looked at her properly before – or as though he had just realised that she had changed somehow since the last time she'd visited the bookshop.

Since she'd left Hogwarts that morning, Hermione had been careful not to dwell on what had transpired in Snape's bed last night, but now she wondered: was there something subtly different about her now? Could Bunce somehow discern that only last night she'd been gasping in pleasure at the touch of a man that she didn't love and didn't even really like? And what about other people? All the people in the street today? What about Pansy? Had they all been able to tell, just by looking at her? 

"I suppose we could come to an arrangement," said Bunce, and winked, so quickly that Hermione might have only imagined it – except that she knew very well that she hadn't.

Hermione pulled herself together. "I wish to buy these books. Either sell them to me or not, but don't waste any more of my time," she said in a frozen voice.

Bunce raised one eyebrow, but "Of course," was all he said as he named the price and proceeded to wrap Hermione's purchases.

Hermione had never been so glad to leave a bookshop in her life. She left the shop so quickly, in fact, that she walked straight into the path of a stout witch with fly-away grey hair. The witch dropped her shopping basket and its contents spilled out onto the cobblestones. 

After Hermione had apologised, and helped the witch collect the belongings which had gone flying - including a jar of pickled eye of toad, a packet of extra quality Floo powder and a loaf of crusty bread still warm from the bakery – she forced herself to step back into the doorway of Flourish and Blotts and take a deep breath. There was no way anyone could tell by just looking at her. It wasn't as though the truth was written across her forehead. She was just getting fanciful and silly.

A wizard in a dark green robe stared at her. Did he know?

The wizard looked away and continued on down the street while Hermione cursed herself for jumping to baseless conclusions. This wouldn't do. She couldn't react like that every time anyone's gaze fell on her. There couldn't be something about her that told everyone who looked at her just what she'd been doing last night, even if an irrational part of her mind kept jumping to that conclusion. It was funny, though. She'd never felt this way before, not with Snape and not with her other... with the other men she'd slept with. Even the first time, she'd never wondered the next day if people could tell, or felt that there was a fundamental difference between the way she was yesterday and the way she was today. Maybe it was because those other times the sex had been more civilised, somehow. Normal. Not driven by a spell that demanded to be fed. Those other times she'd never cried out as she had last night. The feeling had never taken her over to the point where not only did she not have control over what she was doing, she was also just barely aware that she was doing it. 

A wave of dizziness swept over her and Hermione clutched the doorpost to stop herself keeling over. She felt very, very tired, and wanted nothing more than to go ho- go back to Hogwarts and spend an hour or two in bed. 

Hermione looked across the street, where the windows of Florean Fortescue's Ice-cream Parlour sparkled gaily in the sun. Originally, she had intended to stop in at the Leaky Cauldron for a quick counter lunch but it would be so crowded by now that that was out of the question. Perhaps an ice-cream would do as a stop-gap measure until she got back to Hogwarts. She never had got around to having breakfast that morning so it was no wonder that she was feeling light-headed.

A little while later, Hermione was strolling up Diagon Alley, a plain, vanilla ice-cream cone in one hand, inwardly debating whether to leave the rest of her shopping until another day. The books she'd bought in Flourish and Blotts, plus the one she had waiting back at the castle, would keep her researches going forward for the time being. She needed to get some things at Slug and Jiggers Apothecary but, really, it wasn't exactly an urgent errand. There could hardly be much on the list of ingredients she required that the Potions master at Hogwarts would not have in stock, after all. Similarly, most of the other items she needed from other shops could wait until her next visit to Hogsmeade.

There was really only one item left on her shopping list which could not be obtained elsewhere. Hermione cast a glance over to her left, uneasily aware that the entrance to Knockturn Alley loomed there. You couldn't be too careful in places like Knockturn Alley, but she really needed to go Borgin and Burkes more than ever now that Flourish and Blotts had proved so unhelpful – not to mention close to downright useless – when it came to that one particular aspect of her research.

Another wave of tiredness hit her, and Hermione made up her mind. It would all wait for another day. Right now, she needed to get out of Diagon Alley and back to the castle. 

Once she'd finished her ice-cream, she wasted no time in doing just that.

* * *

The broom ride from the castle gates seemed to take most of what remained of her energy, and Hermione was more than ready for a rest by the time she got back to the dungeons. She'd barely made it in through the door to Snape's quarters when something small and white streaked through the air towards her. Hermione threw up one arm up to shield her face while the other dug into her pocket for her wand. Something thudded lightly against the back of her hand and quickly wedged itself between two of her fingers. Cautiously moving her arm down again, Hermione discovered that the object was a tiny scroll. She unrolled it, frowning as she read:

_The potion is on the table. _

Do NOT forget to take it as soon as you return.

S.S.

Hermione's fingers clenched around the small square of parchment, crushing it. Trust Snape to infuse such condescension into such a brief note. Did he really think she would have forgotten to take the Contraceptive Concoction? Did he honestly think she was unaware of the possible consequences?

Fuming, Hermione stalked past the steaming goblet sitting on the table in the middle of the room, and made her way through to the bedroom. She put down her bag, kicked off her shoes and grabbed the heavy book which lay on the bedside table. Then she settled down to continue her research from where she'd left off the night before.

Once the first flush of anger had cooled, she lowered the book to her lap, aware that she hadn't taken in a single word that she'd read. She wasn't sure what she should do next. Part of her wanted to stay in here and ignore the goblet waiting for her in the other room; the rest of her was aware of how very childish she was being. The fleeting satisfaction of not drinking the Concoction and so showing Snape that he couldn't just issue commands at her and expect to be obeyed could well turn out to be cold comfort in the months to come. She couldn't avoid the goblet for ever; she couldn't ignore it for more than a few hours. She might as well get it over and done with.

Sighing, Hermione carefully closed the book and got up again.

The goblet was still sitting exactly where she'd left it, and still steaming. It reminded her a little of the Wolfsbane Potion that Snape brewed each month for Remus Lupin. At least the Contraceptive Concoction tasted better, from all reports. She picked up the goblet and downed the potion in one gulp. She made a face. It might taste better than the Wolfsbane Potion, but she was betting it wasn't by all that much. The next time she saw Lupin she must remember to ask him exactly what the Wolfsbane tasted like. He wouldn't mine. Lupin was nice and approachable and always willing to talk about ideas. In short, he was as unlike some other wizards of Hermione's acquaintance as it was possible to be. It was such a pity that his monthly problem made him ineligible to take part in Hermione's current… undertaking. She'd much rather live with him, or do anything with him, than with Snape. Doing things with Snape was so distasteful.

She closed her eyes as she was abruptly assailed by a memory of the night before. Unfortunately, closing her eyes didn't do her much good, since the memory was a sensory one. In fact, closing her eyes only served to enhance the memory of Snape's hands, stroking down her body, gently pushing open her legs, closing in bit by bit and…

Hermione swallowed. Yes, doing such things with Lupin wouldn't have been nearly so distasteful.

She put down the goblet back on the table where she'd found it. Snape had left it out; he could clean it up. She would-

The goblet went flying as Hermione made a desperate grab for the side of the table. The room was spinning before her eyes, and everything was suddenly much, much brighter than it should be. She reached blindly with her other hand, found the back of the nearest chair and fell heavily into it. Trembling, she sat with her head between her knees, waiting for the dizzy spell to pass.

But this time, it didn't pass. Even as she sat there with her eyes closed, Hermione could feel the room tilting and spinning around her.

She needed help. Hermione sat up very slowly, but she still felt sick to the stomach when she opened her eyes to see the room pitching and heaving around her. She got to her feet very shakily, clutching at bookshelves as she made agonisingly slow progress towards the door.

"_Alohomora_," she whispered. The door flew open and she stumbled out into the school corridor.

She took one step and her legs gave out, folding up beneath her for all the world as though they belonged to a flimsy picnic chair.

She might have blacked out. She wasn't sure. If she had blacked out, she didn't think it was for all that long. She lay there for a while, the feel of the cold, hard floor against her head oddly comforting. She couldn't possibly fall any further while she was down there.

She knew she should try to get up. The door to Snape's private quarters was standing wide open and revealed to anyone who should chance by.

She hoped someone would chance by, and soon.

"Help!" she croaked. "Somebody help me!"

And then the darkness took her.

* * *


	4. Awakenings and Answers

****

**Chapter 4: Awakenings and Answers**

Her head ached, a terrible, tired ache. That harsh buzzing in the background wasn't helping things at all. Hermione moved her head slightly against the pillow. It didn't feel right; she wasn't in her own bed. She groaned, as memory returned. She'd been lying on the hard stone floor of the dungeons, helpless, possibly unconscious at times. Who knew how long she'd lain there? Then, finally, after what seemed like forever, there'd been a scuffle of feet, followed by the sound of voices. Young voices. Student voices. Gasping in surprise and then arguing about what to do. Eventually, they'd decided to take her to the hospital wing. The last thing she remembered was a boy's voice, nervous but clear, casting _Mobilicorpus_. She opened her eyes to see the familiar environs of the hospital wing. Well, at least they'd managed to get her here more or less in one piece. 

The buzzing grew louder, and Hermione groaned again. The sound was coming from outside the room. All of a sudden, the doors burst open. The buzzing abruptly became about a hundred times louder and turned into an angry conversation between Madam Pomfrey and Snape, who came storming through the ward straight towards Hermione's bed.

"I will thank you to mind your own business," Snape was saying.

"As long as she's in my hospital wing, she _is_ my business," Madam Pomfrey retorted, hurrying to keep up with Snape's long strides.

"That circumstance can easily be remedied."

"Not until I say she's fit to leave, it can't."

"Of course she's fit to leave!"

"I'll be the judge of that," Madam Pomfrey told him firmly as they stopped beside Hermione's bed.

"Ah, Miss Granger," said Snape, pointedly ignoring Madam Pomfrey. "Awake at last, I see. I trust you are ready to depart?"

Madam Pomfrey responded anyway. "As I have told you repeatedly, Professor Snape, Miss Granger will not leave my care until I am satisfied that she is fit and well enough to do so. Now, if you get out of this room so that I may examine my patient-"

"I'm not leaving here without her."

Pomfrey looked slightly taken aback at that. So did Snape. He looked annoyed at having given away more than he had intended.

Hermione decided it was time to enter the fray. "I'm not going anywhere until Madam Pomfrey examines me," she said, pushing herself up in bed until she was sitting up against the pillows.

Pomfrey flashed a smile of triumph at Snape.

"However, I think Professor Snape should stay, as he has a… certain vested interest in my condition."

Pomfrey's smile faded somewhat at that. "Just what exactly-" she began.

Snape then surprised Hermione utterly by taking her hand. "Because I adore her and cannot live without her. Obviously," he said in a flat voice.

At that, Pomfrey just looked irritated. "For goodness' sake, Severus. There's plainly something going on here that you neither of you want to tell me, but at least give me credit for a little sense."

"Then give me the credit to know that she would be far better off in my quarters than here, where anyone might see her."

"It's a bit late for that. Plenty of people have already seen her," Pomfrey pointed out. "There was quite a crowd of spectators out in the hall as she arrived, and I imagine that the story of the unconscious witch in the dungeon corridor has spread around the school like wildfire by now."

"Oh dear," said Hermione.

"Indeed," said Snape, rubbing his eyes in a tired gesture.

"I suppose you'd better get on with it, Madam Pomfrey," said Hermione. "The sooner I'm out of here, the sooner the whole thing can die down and be forgotten."

"I see that the five years since you left this establishment have done nothing to cure that ridiculous optimism of yours," Snape observed.

"That's the spirit, dear," Pomfrey said to Hermione, taking out her wand as she did so. "Just pull the sheet down a bit. That's right." She turned to Snape. "Take a seat and keep out of my way, if you _must_ be present." 

With a jerk of her head, she indicated a chair which sat near the foot of Hermione's bed. Surprisingly, Snape obeyed, and sat down. He leaned back in the chair and it occurred to Hermione that he looked very tired, though he kept both eyes trained on Madam Pomfrey's every move.

"Have you ever fainted before?" she asked Hermione.

"No, never," Hermione replied.

"Been feeling dizzy or light-headed lately? Off your food?"

"Um, well." Hermione felt suddenly guilty. "I have been feeling a bit light-headed, and I've skipped a few meals recently, but I often do that." Madam Pomfrey frowned. "I lose track of the time when I'm working on something important," Hermione explained hastily. "I don't skip meals on purpose."

"Is there any chance you might be pregnant?" Madam Pomfrey asked, still using the same businesslike tone.

"I really don't think..." Hermione began, looking anywhere but at Snape. She cleared her throat, and started again: "I've been using the standard Contraceptive Concoction. In fact, I took it just before I left Professor Snape's quarters-" Oh dear. Now Pomfrey would really wonder what was going on.

"I prepared it for her," said Snape expressionlessly.

"But I really don't think…" Hermione said again. "It's only been in the last few weeks that I've started using – I mean, _needing_ – I mean, I really don't think that I could be pregnant."

Pomfrey's face betrayed absolutely no curiosity, her calm, professional nurse's mask totally in place. "I think we should start with that first, just to rule it out, if nothing else. Now, let's just tuck this sheet out of the way. This will only take a second. Just a quick little incantation and it will all be over." She waved her wand over Hermione's torso, and murmured a basic diagnosis spell.

Hermione felt the power of the charm the instant it touched her. Her head fell back against the pillows as the room whirled before her eyes. She was vaguely aware of Snape springing to his feet and a voice shouting "Stop!" and then it all faded away.

She came round to the sound of voices again, though this time they were in the room with her, right up close beside her. She groaned.

The noise didn't abate in the slightest.

"Don't you dare tell me what to do in my own infirmary. I've been treating patients here longer than you've been alive!"

"I don't care how long you've been patching up students in this place-"

"That is abundantly clear. Now get out of the way and let me examine her properly."

"Do you wish to kill her?" Snape didn't shout, but his voice was hard and clear.

"What do you mean?" asked Madam Pomfrey.

"Yes, what do you mean?" Hermione echoed, staring at Snape in shock.

Snape looked back down at her, arms folded in front of his chest. "I'm surprised you haven't put the clues together yourself. You always had the answer to everything when you were at school."

Hermione almost bristled at that remark, but for once she could detect no mockery in the tone of his voice or the expression on his face, all intensity and seriousness. "What clues?" she asked instead.

Madam Pomfrey nodded. "I'd appreciate being let in on that information myself."

"You didn't notice her reaction just now?" This time Hermione had no trouble detecting the familiar mockery in Snape's voice.

"Of course I did. That is why I need to examine her properly," replied Madam Pomfrey, not sounding at all impressed with Snape.

Snape made an impatient sound. "Which is exactly why you shouldn't be let anywhere near her! Have you been in this medical backwater for so long that you can't even tell an adverse reaction to magical energy when you see one?"

Hermione's eyes opened wide as all the parts of the puzzle fell into place. "Of course!" she said. "Oh, I don't believe I didn't pick up on it. As soon as I drank the potion, I felt much worse. And then, when I was brought here, they used _Mobilicorpus_ on me. And there were other times today when I used magic on myself. There must have been a cumulative effect, so when Madam Pomfrey used the diagnosis charm…"

Snape nodded. "It appears that your much vaunted brains haven't deserted you completely." The corners of his lips curled into a slight, unpleasant smile.

Hermione coloured. With the benefit of hindsight, it seemed so obvious. She could have kicked herself for ignoring all the signs. 

"And exactly why do you both seem to think it's likely that Hermione should suffer such a reaction?" Madam Pomfrey asked, her eyes narrowing.

"That is something which need not concern you," said Snape, drawing himself up to his full height and looking down his nose at Madam Pomfrey. 

"If you think I'm letting her out of here without making sure that she's well enough to go, you're very much mistaken."

"I'm quite conscious now, you know," Hermione interjected pointedly, not appreciating the way in which the other two were giving every appearance of squaring up for another round. "Before you try to fight this out between you, I'd just like to say that I think Madam Pomfrey has a point."

"Miss Granger, I trust I do not have to remind you of the importance of _certain things_?" Snape turned his hard gaze back on her and Hermione shifted uncomfortably against the pillows.

"No, of course you don't," she snapped. "I'm simply pointing out that we don't know very much about" – Snape glared at her in warning – "… all this. I'd rather stay here until I've regained a bit of my strength." 

"It would be best if you returned to the dungeons with me as soon as possible," said Snape. It sounded much more like a command than a suggestion.

"Actually, I don't think I have much choice about that," Hermione responded evenly, trying to remain calm in the face of Snape's high-handed attitude. "Until I'm well enough to walk out of here, I won't be going anywhere. I hardly think that travelling by Floo or another round of _Mobilicorpus_ is a wise course of action right at the moment."

"I'm glad to see your sense hasn't deserted you, Hermione," said Madam Pomfrey, shooting a sidelong glance at Snape as she moved closer to fuss with Hermione's bedclothes and rearrange her pillows.

Snape stood a little way back from the bed, scowling fiercely. "It appears that these fainting spells have addled your wits, Miss Granger. Or has it simply slipped your mind that you need to be _elsewhere_ tonight?"

"No, of course it hasn't slipped my mind, but I won't be much use to anyone if something worse than fainting happens to me next time, will I? Unless you can think of some non-magical means of moving me. Or were you planning to throw me over your shoulder and carry me all the way to the dungeons?"

Snape hissed something through clenched teeth which sounded very much like "Don't tempt me," before stalking around to the other side of the bed, where he resumed his seat.

Studiously ignoring him, Hermione turned to the matron, who was still hovering close to her pillows and asked, "Madam Pomfrey, you haven't mentioned whether the diagnosis charm worked. I'd like to know the result, if there is one."

"Yes, of course it worked." Madam Pomfrey sounded slightly cross, which wasn't really surprising considering how often Snape had called her competency into question since Hermione had awoken.

"And?" Hermione knew she must be sounding impatient and less than polite, but she couldn't seem to stop herself. She was surprised to find that she was quite nervous about the answer. It wasn't as though there was any real likelihood that she was pregnant. It was just – what if she was?

"The result was negative, dear. Just as you expected."

"Oh, thank goodness," said Hermione.

A snort came from the other side of the bed, and Hermione glanced over at Snape. He looked affronted, presumably at the inference that anyone could doubt that a potion brewed by him could ever be less than one hundred percent effective.

"I must say, I'm relieved that that's the case," said Madam Pomfrey. "Given the effect magic is having on your body at present, it's entirely possible that the potion might not have worked." She paused, and then added in a lower voice, "My dear, are you sure you know what you're doing? This sort of thing can be very dangerous."

Taken by surprise, Hermione was momentarily speechless. 

"Keep your nose out of matters which don't concern you, you interfering old busybody," Snape snarled, getting to his feet and looking daggers at Pomfrey.

Pomfrey held herself very straight and stood her ground, keeping her eyes fixed on Hermione's.

"What sort of thing do you mean, Madam Pomfrey?" Hermione asked, finding her voice again.

"Hermione, I am not a fool, despite what some people may think." She didn't even have to look in Snape's direction. "There's a reason why the Ministry has banned the practice of most forms of magic which involve sex as an integral component." 

She did look at Snape then. He didn't flinch under her hard gaze, instead responding with an equally flinty look of his own.

"How do you know-" Hermione paused. "All right, so the situation must be obvious to you from what we've been saying."

"As I said, my dear, I am very far from being a fool, and it's my business to know about the effects of any and every kind of magic on the human body. I am fully aware of just what a serious business this sort of magic is, and I sincerely hope that you are also aware of that."

"Of course she is," growled Snape before Hermione had a chance to answer. 

"I also hope very much that you haven't been drawn into a situation that is not of your choosing," Madam Pomfrey continued, as though Snape had not spoken.

"I know what I'm doing, Madam Pomfrey. Really. I do. I wouldn't have even considered becoming involved if I hadn't been convinced of the need," said Hermione.

Hermione's words were intended to reassure Madam Pomfrey that she she'd known what she was getting herself into. Instead, they seemed to have the opposite effect. Pomfrey first looked shocked and then indignant, and then she rounded on Snape.

"How could you?" she demanded. "She's barely more than a girl. Only a few short years ago she was a child under your care!"

"You're even more of a fool than I took you for if you think that I somehow lured innocent little Miss Granger into my evil clutches," he said with cold fury. "You weren't paying much attention all those years she was at school if you could believe that my poor powers of persuasion would be sufficient to cause any of Potter's friends to do my bidding."

"You are a grown man-" Madam Pomfrey began.

"I wasn't the one who convinced her, you silly old biddy! Do you honestly imagine that we would – or could – carry out this sort of thing at Hogwarts without the appropriate authority?" Snape said angrily.

Madam Pomfrey was red-faced and breathing hard. "I don't-"

"Professor Dumbledore knows exactly what we're doing, Madam Pomfrey," Hermione interrupted in as calm a voice as she could muster. "Please don't ask any more questions. We really can't give you any answers, even though we'd like to." A rumble from Snape's direction suggested that she was speaking for herself when it came to that last bit. "Thank you for your concern, though. I appreciate it."

Madam Pomfrey drew in a deep breath, visibly trying for a semblance of calm. "Very well," she said in a strained voice. "I think, perhaps, that it is time for Professor Snape to depart and let you recuperate in peace."

Hermione met Snape's hard stare across the pillow. "I don't think-" she said.

"I'll be staying," Snape said flatly.

"I don't-" Hermione started again.

"If you cannot move from here, then I must stay. It's quite simple." Snape didn't look happy about having to say it.

Madam Pomfrey gave up attempting calm at that point. "I am not a fool, Severus Snape," she said. 

"So you keep telling me."

"Don't try to divert my attention. I know exactly what your staying means," Madam Pomfrey continued doggedly. "I can't imagine that Professor Dumbledore would allow such a spell to be cast within the walls of Hogwarts. He wouldn't countenance it. Not unless…" Her voice trailed off and a look of horror took over her face.

"Yes, exactly. I see that the situation is now quite clear to you" said Snape. "I'll need the use of your Floo so that I can retrieve certain necessary items from my quarters."

Pomfrey looked at Snape as though he were mad. "I can't possibly allow you to do that, Severus."

"Surely we don't have to go through it all over again? I thought we'd finally got to the point where you had reached a rudimentary understanding of the situation." Snape sounded put upon.

"On the contrary, it appears that I have a better understanding of the situation than you do, or have you completely forgotten just why Miss Granger ended up here?"

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked, though she had a pretty good idea of where this was heading.

"Explain your point," said Snape.

"I would have thought the matter to be perfectly obvious to a wizard of your perspicacity and … experiences, Severus." Snape's lips curled into a sneer at that. "If Miss Granger is suffering an adverse reaction to magic, then surely you are in a similar danger. Apart from any other reason, as a Healer, I simply cannot allow either of you to expose yourselves to such a hazard."

Hermione nodded. "I think she's right," she told Snape.

Snape didn't say anything but the look he cast at her said very clearly 'You would.'

"Go back to your rooms and get whatever you require for the night," Madam Pomfrey instructed him. "I'll have the bed next to Miss Granger's made up for you in the mean time."

"You appear to have reconciled yourself to the situation very quickly," Snape observed.

"I'll also be going to see the Headmaster while you're gone," Madam Pomfrey told him.

"Of course you will," said Snape, with the hint of a mocking smile. "I would have been disappointed if you'd done otherwise. You'd better make haste. I won't be long."

And with that, he got up and disappeared out the door without another word.

Madam Pomfrey looked after him as the doors swung shut, then turned back towards Hermione's bed and busied herself in smoothing down the coverlet one more time. The small task seemed to soothe her because after a moment she looked up, her expression all calm efficiency once more.

"I must go now, Hermione, but I'll be back shortly," she said. 

"I wish you wouldn't, Madam Pomfrey. And I wish you wouldn't worry. I know what I'm doing."

"I hope so, my dear. I really do. However, other people also knew what they were doing when they persuaded you into this – and that's why I'm going to see the Headmaster. In the meantime, make sure you get your rest." She patted Hermione's hand, then walked away swiftly and had quit the room before Hermione had a chance to say anything more.

Hermione was left alone. All in all, it was quite a relief. She lay back against the pillows, deciding to get what rest she could before the next round commenced.

* * *

As it turned out, Madam Pomfrey returned to the hospital wing rather sooner than Professor Snape. 

Hermione was looking out the window by her bed, bored, and wishing that she'd thought to ask Snape to bring one of her books up from his quarters. As it was, her only distraction was watching a group of students practising on the Quidditch pitch in the distance. It wasn't really much of a distraction. She looked around quickly when she heard the doors open; relieved, and yet not, when she saw who had entered the room.

Madam Pomfrey shook her head as she crossed the room to Hermione's bed. "It is really most annoying. I arrived at the Headmaster's office to find that he left the school half an hour ago and will not be back before morning. It appears that I will be unable to bring this matter to his attention until tomorrow."

"He really does know about it, Madam Pomfrey. It was his idea," said Hermione.

"I'm not doubting your word, Hermione. I'm sure that he impressed you with the urgency and direness of the situation. The Headmaster always has a host of excellent reasons for any course of action he takes." She smiled grimly. "All the more reason for me to give him a piece of my mind."

"Madam Pomfrey-"

"Now, to get this bed sorted out." Madam Pomfrey said briskly, pointing her wand at the bed closest to Hermione's. Immediately, the covers drew back to allow the pillows to rise into the air where they fluffed themselves out, before floating gently back down to the bed and settling back into place. Madam Pomfrey considered the bed for a moment then summoned an extra blanket from a nearby cupboard. It unfolded itself and tucked itself in at the foot of the bed, somehow managing to appear slightly nervous of Madam Pomfrey's scrutiny. 

Satisfied, Madam Pomfrey turned back to Hermione. "I know where you must have been sleeping of late. However, for a number of reasons I'd much prefer that you kept to separate beds while staying in my hospital wing. The proximity of these two beds should be close enough to satisfy the requirements of the spell. For one night, anyway."

"Thank you," said Hermione.

She was saved from having to say anything else by the opening of the door. The new arrival turned out not to be Snape, as she'd expected, but a schoolboy of about fifteen or so. He was quite tall for his age, and thin, with curly dark hair and a large-ish nose. His hands were thrust deep in the pockets of his robes and he looked more than a little nervous.

"Hello, Madam Pomfrey," he said. "I just came to see if the… Miss… your patient was all right."

"As you can see for yourself, Mr Parsons, she is well on the road to recovery. Thank you for your concern, but Miss Granger needs to rest so you must leave now," said Madam Pomfrey.

Hermione recognised the boy's voice. "Wait just a moment," she called out, as the boy turned to go. "You're the one who cast the _Mobilicorpus_ on me, aren't you?"

The boy flushed slightly. "Yes, that was me."

"Hello," said Hermione. "My name's Hermione Granger. Thank you for helping me." She held out her hand.

"I'm Kevin Parsons," said the boy, coming forward and shaking hands with her. He seemed relieved when Hermione let go of his hand again. 

"You're a Ravenclaw?" Hermione asked, noticing the insignia on his robe.

He nodded.

"I was a Gryffindor, though my friends sometimes said I should have been a Ravenclaw because I studied so much." She laughed gently. 

"And now I really think it is time for Mr Parsons to depart," Madam Pomfrey interrupted. "Miss Granger needs her rest and-"

They all looked around as the doors burst open yet again. Snape strode into the room, carrying a black leather bag which reminded Hermione of an old-fashioned doctor's case. His eyes fastened on the boy standing by Hermione's bed.

"Just what do you think you are doing here, Mr Parsons? I was not aware that the hospital wing had been designated a student recreation area," said Snape, every word dripping sarcasm.

"It hasn't been, sir. I just wanted to check that Miss Granger was all right," said Parsons, looking apprehensively at Snape and sounding even more nervous than he had before.

"He was one of the students who brought me here, Professor Snape," Hermione explained.

"Well, you've seen her," Snape told Parsons, still staring down at him in displeasure. "Now get going. Five points from Ravenclaw for loitering."

"That's not fair!" Hermione said indignantly.

Snape's cold gaze moved to her. "Parsons is a student at this school. I am a teacher. I will continue to award and deduct points from students as I see fit. Please do not attempt to interfere in matters which do not concern you."

"Of course it concerns me. He came here to see me," Hermione exclaimed.

"Ten points from Ravenclaw," Snape said quietly.

"It's all right, Miss Granger," Parsons said hastily. "I need to start on my homework, anyway."

He wasted no time in getting going, though he did cast one last, curious look over his shoulder at Hermione before the door closed behind him. 

Hermione looked back at him. She did not intend to forget his kindness in coming to her aid when she'd been lying helpless in the dungeons; nor would she forget Snape's unfair treatment of him just now.

As soon as the boy was gone, Snape turned on Pomfrey. "What were you thinking, letting him in here like that?" he demanded. "Surely you understand the need for discretion in this matter?"

"Of course I understand," Pomfrey snapped back at him. "He was only here for a moment, and it's not as if he didn't already know that Hermione was here. There's no harm done."

"Of course there's harm done! It just draws more attention to us. Or didn't the Headmaster make it clear to you that this is meant to be a clandestine undertaking?"

"The Headmaster is away from the school and won't be back until tomorrow," Pomfrey admitted grudgingly.

"Really?" asked Snape. "How inconvenient for you. Still, I expect you'll be down to see him as soon as he returns." He turned away from her, set his leather bag down on the empty bed and began unpacking the contents. It was an unmistakeable dismissal.

Madam Pomfrey stood there, staring at his back and fuming. After a moment, she took a deep breath and turned to Hermione. "If _you_ need anything, Hermione, just pull the tassel on your bedpost and I'll be back directly."

"Thanks," said Hermione. 

Madam Pomfrey nodded in acknowledgement before walking away, not so much as glancing at Snape as she passed him on her way out of the room.

Hermione lay back against her pillows. The room was quiet, the only sound the gentle rustle of Snape's robes as he continued to unpack his things. She looked out the window again, but the Quidditch players were gone. The grounds seemed to be deserted. Hermione shifted restlessly and turned her attention to Snape. From this angle, all she could see of him was the back of his long, black robe and his lank, equally black hair. All that unrelieved black only served to remind her of how pale his skin was in comparison. 

Abruptly, Hermione looked away, uncomfortably aware of how vividly she could recall the sight of him lying in bed with his naked back to her. Had it really been only that morning?

As if aware of her discomfort, Snape chose that moment to turn around. "I brought this up for you," he told her, thrusting a large book at her. "Since you are stuck here for the moment, you can, at least, use the time productively."

Hermione looked down at the book in her hands. It was the book she'd brought back with her from Number 12, Grimmauld Place, the previous evening.

"You will also be needing these," Snape added, placing her notebook and quill on the stand beside her bed.

"Thank you," she muttered, suddenly acutely aware that all she seemed to be doing recently was sit around in bed and thank people. She needed to get back to doing something useful.

Snape went back to sorting out the items he'd taken from his bag. They were spread out on the bed in front of him. There seemed to be rather more things there than should have been able to fit inside something so relatively small. The bag was obviously charmed with some sort of containment spell. It was a neat bit of magic and if Snape had been just about anyone else, Hermione would have asked how he'd incorporated the charm into the substance of the bag. However, Snape was Snape. Hermione opened her book.

She found it difficult to concentrate on the words on the page before her thanks to her aching head – she wished that Madam Pomfrey had been able to give her something to ease the pain - and to the fact that Snape was still sorting through the things he'd brought. Hermione could see him moving about out of the corner of her eye. 

Eventually Snape settled down in a chair between the two beds. Now Hermione could see all the things that he had set out on the bed. Surprisingly, most of them were books. Snape had another open on his lap.

He raised one eyebrow as he caught Hermione staring. "You aren't the only one capable of conducting research into our situation."

Hermione considered him for a moment. He stared back. Apparently, no one had ever told him that it wasn't polite to stare.

Finally she said, "Yes, but I think you know a bit more about it than I do, even though I'm the one who's been doing all the research until now."

"Why do you say that?" Snape asked, looking suddenly wary.

"You knew that I was having a reaction to magical energy."

"Any competent magical practitioner should have been able to deduce that from the evidence."

"Yes, given time and knowledge of the pertinent facts, anyone who knew what they were doing would have worked it out." Hermione looked straight into Snape's dark eyes. "But you worked it out very quickly without even knowing how many times I'd used magic on myself today."

"I am a competent magical practitioner, obviously," said Snape.

"You've seen this before," Hermione said, only completely sure that she was right when she uttered the words.

Snape said nothing.

"Haven't you?" Hermione prompted.

Snape blinked once, slowly, and returned his attention to his book. 

Hermione didn't look away. Instead, she kept her eyes firmly on Snape. After a little bit, she tried another approach. "I'm surprised you didn't cast a forgetfulness spell on Madam Pomfrey. She worked out a lot more than I would have expected her to."

Snape sighed ostentatiously and looked up. "The Headmaster frowns on that sort of behaviour. It's simply not the done thing to go about _Obliviating_ one's colleagues at will." Hermione's face must have betrayed her surprise at the idea of Snape worrying about observing the proprieties, because he frowned irritably and clarified: "Too many people saw you being taken into the hospital wing to be able to get away with it. Causing old Pomfrey to forget would have created more problems than it solved."

"I see," said Hermione, a wealth of meaning in her tone.

Snape ignored that. "And now, if you're quite finished?" he asked pointedly, and held his book up in front of him so that Hermione could no longer see his face.

Disgruntled, Hermione looked down at the book on her own lap. The sentence at the top of the page was familiar: she must have read it ten times since she'd first turned to that particular page last night. She really needed to get past it. 

Before long, both Snape and Hermione were buried deep in their respective books and muttering under their breath as they scribbled notes in their respective notebooks. Much to Hermione's surprise, the ensuing silence turned out to be oddly companionable. Over the past weeks, she'd always found Snape's presence a hindrance to her concentration when studying in his quarters. Now, on neutral ground, they seemed to have reached something like a truce. An armed truce, true, but still a truce. 

She turned the page.

Time always had a way of passing quickly whenever Hermione was engrossed in a book, but she was still surprised, when she looked up some time later, to discover that it was growing dark outside. The candelabras set into the wall sconces came alight all at once and bathed the room in warm, yellow light. Smiling slightly, Hermione returned to her book. 

A while after that, a house-elf brought them dinner on trays. By tacit consent, they ate quickly, and then turned back to their books.

Eventually, Madam Pomfrey came in, looking very much calmer than when Hermione had last seen her, and requested that her patient get some sleep. Once she had made sure that they'd not only closed their books but put them away, Madam Pomfrey bade them good night and left them alone.

Snape disappeared behind the screen in the corner – it served the purpose even better than the wardrobe door back in his quarters – and emerged a few minutes later, his long, grey nightshirt covering him from neck to below the knee. He came back to his chair, and sat down to remove his boots.

His bed was still covered in books. Hermione expected him to start putting them away, but instead he got to his feet and looked at her unreadable, unnerving expression on his face.

"Aren't you going to-" Hermione began.

"You know that we must sleep in the same bed each night," he stated baldly. "Make room for me so that we can both get some sleep."

"Madam Pomfrey said that we'd be all right in separate beds for one night," Hermione replied.

"And you'd rather take her word over mine, after the way in which she demonstrated her skill when she almost killed you earlier today," Snape said blandly.

Hermione bit her lip, hard, and moved over.

The hospital bed wasn't nearly as wide as Snape's bed. Hermione lay poised uncomfortably on her side, as close to the edge as she could manage without actually falling out. Even so, there was very little space to spare between her and the other occupant of the bed. After a couple of minutes of this, Hermione admitted that she couldn't possibly stay like that all night. She rolled over onto her back. There was just enough room, though her arm was pressed hard against Snape's. She could feel the muscles tense at her touch, just as they had the night before.

But of course tonight was not going to be a repeat of the night before.

Snape shifted in the bed, so that their arms were no longer touching. So that their bodies were no longer touching at all. Hermione wasn't sure how he found the space to manage it in the terribly narrow bed. She _was_ sure that she wasn't going to get a wink of sleep. It was impossible to relax when so tense and aware that the person lying next to you was going out of his way to avoid the least physical contact with you.

Hermione lay there, eyes closed as she listened to the sound of Snape's deep, regular breathing coming from the other side of the pillow.

She was still listening when sleep claimed her.


	5. Where Do We Go From Here?

****

Chapter 5: Where Do We Go From Here?

For the second day in a row, Hermione woke to find herself in circumstances not quite like any she'd experienced before. Unlike the previous day, she didn't wake up to find a naked man sleeping on the other side of the bed. This time, the man wasn't naked, though he was more or less asleep. That was the extent of the improvements on the situation, however, since the man in question was also most definitely not on the other side of the bed this morning.

They were both lying on their sides, face to face and uncomfortably close in the middle of the narrow bed. Snape's head was lying so close beside her own on the pillow that Hermione could see little beyond his nose, and the only sound she could hear was of his breath as he slept. Every time he exhaled, his breath caught a curl at the side of Hermione's face, making it brush against her chin.

That repetitive tickle would be enough to rouse anyone, in time. However, as Hermione slowly came awake and to a proper sense of her surroundings, she realised that the small irritation was not what had woken her up. She gradually became aware of two things: firstly, there was a large, warm hand moving up and down her side, tracing the curve of her body from waist to hip in long, easy strokes; secondly, her own hand was wrapped around something long and firm, and was stroking hot, smooth skin in a rhythm that matched that of the hand caressing her hip. 

Hermione's hand stilled, closing tighter around Snape's cock; it jumped against her palm. Snape let out a soft moan and pushed into her hand. She slackened her grip and started to move her hand away, but somehow her fingers trailed along the hard shaft - still so very hot against her skin - and that was enough to make him gasp and shudder as he clutched her hard and pulled her hips up against his. 

Hermione's hand was wedged between their bodies now. It was more than time to move it away - more than time to get up and right away from the bed and temptation, in fact. But she could feel Snape's erection pressing against her still, and his fingers digging into the soft skin near her hip. And his head was still lying on the pillow beside her, lips parted slightly. It would be so easy to reach across and brush her lips against his. So easy. But she wouldn't do that. Of course she wouldn't. She would get up, and get out of here before something happened that wasn't scheduled to happen again for almost a week.

Hermione pulled her arm out from between their bodies, and reached up to pull the covers back, but somehow her hand ended up cupping the side of his face instead. Beneath her fingers, she could feel the prickle of morning stubble along the strong curve of his jaw.

And then she was kissing him and pressing even closer as she curled one leg over his. 

She closed her eyes and shut out sight of the world beyond the senses as his lips moved against hers in response. 

She closed her mind and shut out thought of consequences as, finally, she let her body do what it wanted and rub against his. She could feel his erection, hard against her naked skin, so close to where she wanted it to be and yet not nearly close enough.

The kiss deepened and she moaned into his mouth as they rocked together, an answering rumble deep in his throat that seemed to get stronger and louder and-

Hard fingers grabbed her wrist and pulled her hand away from Snape's face. Then his lips pulled away from hers as well. The rumble in his throat turned into a loud cry as he wrenched himself free of her. A moment later, he was gone from the bed and Hermione was left lying there, confused and bereft.

Her body ached in disappointment, even while her mind did its best to scream at her that she should be relieved that Snape had had the strength of will to break away when he did. She looked over at him, not sure what to say, if there were any words appropriate to such a situation. He was standing with his back to the bed, panting hard, arms moving convulsively as he pulled his nightshirt down until it was lying straight again. His body shook slightly with each harsh breath.

"You stupid girl," he burst out suddenly, still with his back to her. "Don't you know-? Didn't you realise-? What could have possessed you to-?"

He broke off, apparently giving up on conversation - or accusation, anyway - for the moment. His back was still heaving with the effort to control his breathing as he bent down and yanked open his bag, which was lying on top of the unoccupied bed where he'd left it the night before. Grabbing a few items from inside the bag, he pulled on his dressing-gown and strode over to the far door which led to the bathroom. Hermione winced slightly as the door slammed shut behind him.

She remained lying in the bed exactly as he'd left her, too stunned to move, though whether she was more shocked at Snape for calling a halt to their encounter before it came to a satisfying conclusion, or at herself for starting the whole thing in the first place, she wasn't sure. Perhaps the most shocking thing was simply the fact that she had wanted him. She had wanted Snape. And she wanted him still. If he came back through that door right now and flung himself upon her, she wouldn't protest. She wouldn't deny him. She would do everything in her power to encourage him.

It was a disturbing thought. It was a whole series of disturbing thoughts.

Just as well she didn't really want him. Just as well it was the spell, forcing an attraction where none existed in reality. She hadn't fancied Snape before this whole unlikely situation had occurred, and she would go back to not fancying him - not fancying him in the slightest - once it was all over. It was only logical that it would work that way, and Hermione had always been a great believer in logic.

She sat up in bed, greatly relieved to have worked out that logic and reason were on her side. As the sheet fell away, she realised that her nightdress had ridden up - or been pushed up - and that she was quite naked beneath the covers from the waist down. The memory of how Snape's body had felt against her bare skin came unbidden to her mind, and her body throbbed in frustration. She wriggled against the sheet, but only so she could pull down her nightdress. The wriggling certainly had nothing to do with thoughts of Snape. Even if it did, it was only because of the spell. It wasn't because anything she felt was real.

He couldn't blame her for something that wasn't real. 

Hermione, paused, struck by a sudden thought. Now that she considered the sequence of events properly, she decided that he shouldn't have been blaming her even if it had been real. That had been his hand stroking her hip with great deliberateness when she'd first woken up. She hadn't been the one to start it. Or not the only one.

Hermione shot a resentful look at the bathroom door. It remained closed.

Feeling suddenly irritable, Hermione cast around the room for something to do until Snape re-appeared. Her eyes fell on the books Snape had left spread out on the bed next to hers and she found herself wondering exactly which books he had brought up from the dungeons with him. Since she had started on the project, she had kept both Snape and Professor Dumbledore regularly apprised of which sources she was checking in the course of her research, so it was unlikely in the extreme that Snape would waste time going over ground she had already covered. She had been more than a little curious about the books since the moment Snape took them out the night before but there had been little point in asking him about them after his refusal to answer any of her other questions about his previous experience with this sort of magic.

Much easier to wait until he was out of the room and check the books for herself. 

Hermione eased herself out of bed, relieved to discover that yesterday's dizziness was completely gone. She started with the book Snape had spent the most time taking notes from last night. It was the smallest book, not thick, and bound in worn brown leather. Flipping to the title page, she read out: "_Mad, Bad and Dangerous: the Role of Compulsion Spells in Medieval Magic_."

Hermione frowned. In her own research she'd covered - or tried to cover - sex spells and magical power sources, but compulsion spells? Nothing in her own work had even touched on that. Perhaps Snape had been lying when he'd said - or implied, really, now that she thought about it - that he was doing research into their situation. But no. Hermione discarded the thought almost as soon as she considered it. Snape was many things, but he wasn't a liar, so far as she knew. He could make the truth seem like a falsehood, and he was altogether too fond of misleading the unwary, but she couldn't remember his ever telling an outright lie before - which meant that whatever he had been looking up in those books of his did have some sort of bearing on Hermione's own research.

She picked up another book, which proved to be about magical coercion. The one sitting next to it on the bed proved to be something different: _Treatments for Magically Acquired forms of Insanity_, by Dilys Derwent, Healer, St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. It was a wafer thin volume. Hermione wondered what it could have in common with all the other books. It didn't seem to fit. She picked up _Mad, Bad and Dangerous_ again and flipped through until she found a table of contents. The chapters had titles like: 'Banning', 'Penalties for use', 'Madness, death and other side-effects', 'List of known casualties in the last three hundred years' and 'Remedies: few and far between'.

Madness and death. Well, it looked as though she'd found the connection she was looking for. Hermione swallowed hard and put down the book.

She and Snape needed to talk. She needed to know what he knew. He wouldn't fob her off again. She wouldn't settle for anything less than the complete truth, or at least as much of it as Snape himself knew.

She spent a while longer checking titles and contents of all the other books Snape had brought with him. Every single one of them dealt with compulsive magic or magically-related insanity, or both. Once she was done, she double-checked that she'd replaced all the books exactly as she'd found them, and then got back into her own bed to wait for Snape to come back from what must surely be the longest shower of his life. For a man whose personal hygiene had always been regarded as somewhat questionable at best, he seemed to be taking an inordinately long time in the bathroom.

At that moment, the main doors to the ward opened. Steeling herself for looks and questions and possible accusations from Madam Pomfrey as soon as she saw that Snape's bed hadn't been slept in, Hermione was caught by surprise when Professor Dumbledore entered the room. The Headmaster of Hogwarts had changed little since the very first time Hermione had seen him. The signs of increasing frailty were, fortunately, not visible to anyone who didn't know exactly what to look for. Today he looked much as he'd always looked, except that Hermione had rarely seen a more serious and concerned expression on his face than the one he was currently directing her way. Madam Pomfrey bustled in behind the headmaster, stopping in her tracks when she caught sight of the books laid out all over the coverlet of the obviously unused bed, but Hermione found that she no longer cared about the nurse's reaction. That look on the headmaster's face was causing her far more concern.

"Hermione, my dear," Dumbledore said as he came up to the side of her bed. "Poppy tells me that you've suffered something of a setback."

Hermione flushed. "I'm feeling fine this morning, Professor Dumbledore. I don't think it's anything to worry about."

"Perhaps," said Dumbledore, settling himself down in the chair by the bed, "But I think it would be wise to take a few small precautions, in any case. Poppy and I have had a long chat this morning," -- They had? The sun was hardly high in the sky. Pomfrey must have spent the night camped out on Dumbledore's doorstep to have caught him so early -- "and she has provided me with the benefit of her professional opinion." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled for a moment, but then his face grew serious once more. "I need to talk with both you and Severus, since you are affected equally by this situation. Where is he?" The headmaster's sharp old eyes held hers until Hermione began to fidget, but she couldn't look away.

"He's in the bathroom," she said, and then looked down at the bedclothes in relief as Dumbledore turned to address Madam Pomfrey, who was hovering in the background.

"Poppy, if you would be so kind as to retrieve Severus' wand from the bathroom? I am sure he will follow it out shortly."

"Of course, headmaster," said Madam Pomfrey, sounding cool and professional but biting back the suggestion of a smile as she hurried off to the bathroom.

She emerged a moment later, Snape's dark-wooded wand in her hand. "He was under the shower," she reported, "but I don't think he'll be all that long." She was biting back more than the suggestion of a smile now as she handed Snape's wand over to the headmaster. Hermione found that she couldn't quite share the nurse's amusement.

As Pomfrey had predicted, they didn't have to wait very long at all. A minute or so later, the bathroom door opened again, this time with considerably more force than before. Snape paused in the doorway as his gaze swept around the room and fastened on Madam Pomfrey. "How dare you intrude on me like that!" he said through clenched teeth as he advanced on her. "How dare you take my wand! I am not one of your patients. I demand that you return it to me at once." He had obviously not stopped to dry himself properly: the thin material of his dressing-gown clung damply to his skin in odd places and his sopping wet hair was plastered to his head, making his features appear at once more severe than usual as well as unexpectedly comical. As he drew closer, Hermione could see that he was also unshaven, the dark shadow of stubble along his jaw lending him an unsavoury air. All in all, Hermione had rarely seen Snape looking less attractive. And yet, the sight of him stirred something within her that was entirely inappropriate for their present company, apart from any other consideration. She shifted uncomfortably in the bed and looked away from him; she couldn't trust herself to keep her eyes on his face right now.

Dumbledore held up one hand. "One moment, Severus, if you please."

Snape whirled around to face him. "Not one moment. Not one more second!"

"Now Severus," Dumbledore began.

"I _need_ my wand," Snape gritted out. "But I really shouldn't have to explain why I need it. A wizard shouldn't have to explain that, should he? Or why it should be given back, or, better yet _why it should never have been stolen from him in the first place_." This last came out in a low, deadly voice very far from the respectful tones in which Snape habitually addressed the headmaster.

"In normal circumstances, yes," Dumbledore replied, sounding quite unperturbed, "but these are very far from normal circumstances."

"All the more reason why I need my wand at the ready at all times." Snape was standing close to Dumbledore now, almost leaning into his face as Dumbledore sat back in his chair. 

"Unfortunately, I can't agree with you there." Dumbledore sounded apologetic now.

"Give me my wand back," said Snape, a terrible look on his face.

"No," said Dumbledore gently, "I'm afraid I can't."

They shared a long, tense look - tense at least on Snape's part. Somehow, despite the advantage or height Snape managed to appear at a distinct disadvantage. Hermione was put in mind of a large wave dashing itself uselessly against a great granite rockface.

Snape was the one to look away. "Am I allowed to ask why?" he asked bitterly, taking a step back from the headmaster's chair.

"Of course," said Dumbledore. "And I will give you an answer, though it is unlikely to be the one you wish to hear."

"You know what I wish to hear, and why you won't give back my wand isn't it."

Dumbledore inclined his head. "Of course. But you know very well why I can't let you have your wand for the time being, any more than I can allow Miss Granger the use or possession of her wand."

"My wand?" Hermione said in alarm, and reached out to retrieve it from the bedside table where she'd left it the night before. However, her fingers found only the slippery varnished wooden top of the nightstand.

Dumbledore reached into the pocket of his robes, and pulled out Hermione's wand. "I regret, I had to take yours as well, Hermione," he said. 

"But you can't!" said Hermione, aghast.

"Oh, I think you'll find that he can," Snape put in sourly. He turned back to Dumbledore. "So, do we get to know why our wands have been confiscated as though we are two errant schoolchildren?"

"In just one moment, Severus." 

"Professor Dumbledore, I really don't-" Hermione began heatedly.

"Just one moment, Hermione, and then we may discuss the matter properly," said Dumbledore in unruffled calm. He turned to Madam Pomfrey, who had moved over to the other side of the bed, prudently putting herself beyond Snape's reach. "Poppy, if you wouldn't mind getting Severus a towel for his hair, and then...?" He nodded towards the double doors leading out of the ward.

"Of course, Headmaster," said Pomfrey.

"And Poppy?"

"Yes, Headmaster?" Pomfrey paused in the act of walking across the room.

"You will not mention this matter to anyone." It was almost a request. It should have sounded like a request, and yet the note of command was impossible to miss, as was the whiff of magic that accompanied the words.

"I will not mention it," Pomfrey agreed. She summoned a towel from the cupboard in the corner of the room, then levitated it across the room towards Snape. The towel gathered speed as it went, and Snape had to grab it as it flew past his ear. He glowered after Pomfrey as she made her way out of the room. 

The serious, troubled look was back on the headmaster's face as he returned his attention to Snape, who was savagely towelling his hair dry. "If there were any other option, Severus, I would not hesitate to take it. But there is too much at stake here, and Miss Granger's unfortunate experience of yesterday is a warning sign we ignore at our collective peril." He sighed. "I am afraid I cannot allow either of you to work any magic at all until the need for the _Cresco Vis_ has passed."

Snape put the towel down on the arm of his chair and stared at him. "Are you cr-" He swallowed hard. "Do you really consider that necessary? At least for me? I have had no ill effects at all, while Miss Granger-"

"Has been performing far more magic applying directly to her person than you have. Yes, I know. However, in time you will start to suffer the same effect, and every expenditure of magical energy, however small, will only hasten the progress of the _Cresco Vis_."

"This whole ridiculous situation should have been over and done with weeks ago. If it had been, we never would have had to even consider such eventualities," Snape muttered, pushing a few strands of damp hair out of his eyes.

"Very true," agreed Dumbledore sympathetically. "But that is not how things turned out. And so we must take extra measures to ensure our preferred outcome."

"To ensure that we don't go mad and die on you before you're finished with the spell, you mean." Snape was sounding more and more bitter with every word he spoke.

"Mad?" Hermione asked, remembering all too clearly just what Snape had been researching the night before.

"I wouldn't have put it like that," Dumbledore said, suddenly stern, the rebuke in his voice unmistakable. "Of course the personal well-being of you both must be of great concern. There is only one thing more important, as well you know, Severus."

"Exactly what are you talking about?" Hermione demanded. She'd never spoken to the headmaster in that tone in her life, but then she'd never have believed until now that Dumbledore would fail to tell her about something that affected her so directly, and with such potentially dire consequences. She'd known for a long time that Dumbledore had a habit of keeping secrets, but surely not in a situation like this, where she plainly had a real need to know everything there was to know about the spell in question. "I want to know exactly what is going on here," she told him, "and I want to know now."

Dumbledore sighed. "I quite understand your point of view, Hermione. In your position, I feel sure I would be asking the same. However, you must understand that neither Severus nor I _know_ much more than you about the progression of this spell in this particular instance. Most of what we have to go on is merely guesswork."

"Educated guesswork," Snape added dryly.

"Guesswork is a lot better than complete ignorance," Hermione snapped, looking Snape squarely in the face for the first time since he'd come out of the bathroom. "I asked you last night what else you knew, and you wouldn't answer me. I think now would be a good time for some answers, don't you? What do you know? What are you basing your guesses on?"

"I had thought you already understood the nature of this spell. It was rather carefully explained to you before you made the decision to take part in this endeavour."

Hermione sighed irritably. "I know that the _Cresco Vis_ belongs to the order of magical energy source spells developed during the Middle Ages. It's neither good nor evil in itself, though modern thinking has placed it in the realm of Dark Arts because of the sexual element that is central to it and because of some of the uses it has been put to by Dark wizards in the past hundred years or so. How am I doing so far?" she asked Snape.

"If I'd wanted a word for word regurgitation of the textbook definition, I could have looked it up myself," said Snape, sounding bored. "Haven't you considered the spell's effects at all?"

"I know exactly what its effect is. Nothing less would have induced me to take part in this undertaking," Hermione said, looking Snape up and down in a manner than she hoped was as cool as the tone of her voice.

"I don't think that's quite what Severus was getting at, my dear," Dumbledore interrupted, then turned to Snape. "If you'd care to continue, Severus, since you were doing so well already?"

Snape stared at him expressionlessly for a moment before going on. "The headmaster is quite correct. I was thinking more of the effects on the participants than about the application of the spell itself." He walked around the foot of the bed and sat down in the chair across from the one the headmaster was occupying.

Hermione flushed, feeling both foolish at grasping the wrong meaning and slightly embarrassed at what she had to say next. "The spell will strengthen over time as it drains magical, sexual and life energy from the participants. It is possible that the participants could experience an increase in... desire over time." She could feel the flush deepening in her cheeks. "But I really don't see that that should pose a particular danger. Not in this instance."

"Really?" Snape favoured her with a look of disgust. "What exactly do you think is likely to happen if this spell continues to sap our energies?"

"That really isn't likely to happen, though, is it?"

"Why on earth not?" Snape looked frankly incredulous now.

"Because I'm looking for a way to adapt the spell, or to replace it with something less potentially hazardous."

"And you've made a breakthrough in your research since - when was it that you last mentioned you'd found no proper leads? Last night?"

"Well no," Hermione admitted. "But I feel sure that I'll find something some time soon. I always do," she added defensively.

Snape steepled his fingers beneath his chin and stared at her, saying nothing.

Hermione felt the anger start to rise in her again. Just who did he think he was to treat her like that, like one of his stupider students? "Why should I keep answering your questions, anyway?" she asked. "You were supposed to be answering my questions, weren't you?"

Snape still didn't say anything.

"Miss Granger has a point, Severus," Dumbledore broke the silence, speaking in the same mild tone he'd used throughout the conversation.

Snape looked over towards the main doors to the ward, away from Hermione, the look on his face remote and unreadable. He did not say anything for a long moment, so long that Hermione almost jumped in surprise when he finally spoke. "The _Cresco Vis_ was occasionally used by followers of the Dark Lord. As a symbol of their devotion. They regarded taking part in it as the ultimate sacrifice to the cause."

Hermione went cold. "It killed them? I've seen nothing in the literature to suggest that the practice of this sort of magic is fatal."

"I doubt you've found anything in any of those books about the _Cresco Vis_ itself beyond the basic entries in the major textbooks." Snape looked at her then, his eyes as dark and cold as Hermione had ever seen them.

"Well, no," Hermione admitted. "The information available about any sort of sex magic is very thin on the ground. But surely the general principles are the same for all spells in that class?"

Snape smiled that mocking smile of his. The one Hermione hated. "Not every important piece of information is to be found in a book. Sometimes, knowledge can only be acquired through observing and _doing_."

Hermione felt as though she'd been slapped in the face. "In case it's escaped your notice, I _am_ doing," she said, trying hard not to grind her teeth. No matter how hard she'd studied at school, Snape alone of all her teachers had never been impressed. All her hard work had never drawn more than grudging acknowledgment from him that there was no part of her work on which he could fault her. Despite the years that had passed, despite their current situation, it appeared that little had changed. "However," she went on, "it's quite difficult to add to the knowledge I've gained through my own experience if I can't find the answers I want in any book and if people who know more about the subject than I do refuse to answer my questions."

"So, you want to know, do you?" The mocking smile on his lips twisted slightly, and Hermione got the distinct impression that it was being redirected inward. "The Dark Lord used the _Cresco Vis_ as the power source for some of his most devastating attacks during the last war. He was trying to maximise the magical energy, not prolong it for as long as possible, as we are doing, and so once the participants - or 'sacrifices' - had begun they were... encouraged to keep going. After a while, the spell grew sufficiently strong that they needed no further encouragement." His voice cracked a little on the last word. He swallowed hard. "They couldn't stop, even when they grew steadily weaker as all the magic and all the life was sucked out of them bit by bit. The compulsion to fulfill the spell was still in them even when they could barely move. The inability to do so broke their minds."

Hermione listened, struck dumb, as Snape related the horror he had witnessed. Finally, as he came to a stop, she managed to whisper, "So that's why. Last night, your books. That's why." And then another realisation arrived hard on the heels of the first. "And this morning. That's why you-" The words stuck in her throat.

"Madness and death, as I said," he confirmed, and let out a mirthless laugh. 

Hermione was finding it difficult to assimilate all the ramifications of what she was hearing. However, one thought remained uppermost in her mind. "Why didn't you tell me any of this before? Why did you keep this from me? You knew I was researching the spell, and why. So why didn't you say something?" She turned to Dumbledore. "Why didn't _you_?"

The headmaster peered over the top of his half-moon spectacles, looking sombre and sad - and as old as every one of his many years. "At first there was no need. The spell was only going to be of brief duration. None of these issues would arise in such a short space of time."

"But Voldemort didn't cooperate," Hermione reminded him. "He didn't take the bait."

"No," said Dumbledore heavily, "he didn't. Perhaps I should have told you then."

"Yes. You should," Hermione said. There really wasn't much else to say.

"I suppose I must take the blame for that, my dear. A certain foolish hope was at the bottom of it, I fear. A hope that there would still be no good reason for you to know anything more than you already did. A hope to keep you safe, I might venture to call it."

Hermione didn't trust herself to speak for a moment. It appeared that Dumbledore really believed what he was saying. She stared at him. He still looked much as he'd always looked, but Hermione felt as though she was seeing him properly for the first time. 

"I hope that in time you will understand, Hermione," he said sadly.

"Perhaps," she replied. She was starting to understand several things, but she suspected they were very far from what the headmaster had in mind. It was though a door to understanding had started opening in her mind the moment she realised that Dumbledore had taken her wand. Or perhaps the door had opened the first chink when he'd had Madam Pomfrey take Snape's wand. 

"I might understand better if you'd consider returning our wands," she suggested, watching Dumbledore carefully. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Snape shift in his chair.

"I'm afraid we can't take that risk, Hermione. It's not that I don't trust you - either of you," - something that sounded suspiciously like a snort emanated from Snape's direction - "but you are both too used to resorting to use of your wand for dozens of little tasks every day. We have to make sure that you expend as little magical energy as possible. We don't want you falling down in a faint again." He patted her hand. "Things have a way of working themselves out, my dear. You'll see."

Hermione managed to stop herself from drawing her hand away.

"And now I'm afraid I must take my leave," Dumbledore continued, letting go of her hand as he got to his feet. He smiled serenely at them both, and then he was gone, leaving Hermione alone with Snape.

She looked over at him. He was still sitting in his chair, and looked to be about equal parts dampness and irritation. 

He was watching her. 

He didn't say anything at all, just continued to watch her for a moment. Then he got up, gathered up an armful of his clothes, and disappeared into the bathroom.

Hermione was left with an odd sense of anticlimax.

***

TBC


End file.
